


It's A Very, Very, Mad World

by PenDragonInkus



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: First chapter is normal writing, I like to live dangerously, I'm talking about Merlin, If you do know Tears for Fears... you are my people never change, M/M, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH... BUT HE COMES BACK I SWEAR, Perhaps I shouldn't be publishing this while I still have something else on the go, This is an "I'm feeling depressed so I decided to swap roles and torture Arthur instead" fic, but what the hell, no I'm not talking about Arthur, the rest are going to be in letters to Merlin while Arthur waits, yes the title is familiar if you know Tears for Fears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21582046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenDragonInkus/pseuds/PenDragonInkus
Summary: So we all know the countless stories where Merlin has to wait 1500+ years for Arthur to come back. What if, however, the roles were reversed? What if Arthur has to wait 1500+ after Merlin dies because Merlin blessed (or cursed) him with immortality with his dying breath? Arthur has to watch those around him fade away, and eventually has to deal with the five stages of grief on his own... and then when he finally reaches acceptance at about year 1498, Merlin turns up again to turn his world upside down.
Relationships: Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 88





	It's A Very, Very, Mad World

**Author's Note:**

> I am too depressed to update The Avoid Harry Potter Club right now, so here, HAVE SOME ANGST. :D
> 
> Hopefully I don't traumatise you guys too much. 
> 
> Do please enjoy!

_Chapter 1 - The Isle of the Blessed_

Athur Pendragon dispatches off another Saxon with a roar of irritation and swings around, Excalibur held high and glinting in the late afternoon sunlight. “Right, who's next?” he asks with a maniacal grin, and the three thugs in front of him all exchange looks and run off. “Aw, come on!” the Once and Future King laments, but the vacant space in front of him gives him a clear view of Merlin coming face-to-face with... _Mordred_ ? This was not good, an Arthur-trained Knight against _Merlin _ in a swordfight. Arthur shakes his head, annoyed that his friend had ignored him _again_ and sets off to help.

He doesn't make it in time.

One second Merlin and Mordred were exchanging parries, the air charged around them, the next, Mordred got in under Merlin's defences and stabbed him in the side. Merlin's face contorted in pain, and he collapsed to his knees. Mordred raises his sword, looking to slice it down at an angle through Merlin's neck, his eyes glinting with evil glee. He swings his sword down, and for Arthur, everything seems to go in slow-motion. Merlin has now collapsed onto his side, curled in the fetal position, and Arthur jumps in front of his still form, meeting Mordred's swing halfway, with a clang of metal on metal and a flash of sparks.

They exchange blows for what feels like hours, Mordred constantly monologuing about how he “knew this day would come” but Arthur is too focused on his footwork, extremely worried he's going to step back onto his prostrate friend. They're evenly matched, but Mordred makes a stupid mistake thinking Arthur's feint was real, and the King pushes Excalibur up into Mordred's body, piercing his heart. The younger, evil man looks shocked for a couple of seconds before he smiles at Arthur in an awful grimace and collapses to the ground, dead, sword still in hand.

Arthur doesn't even take a second to catch his breath, he whirls around and falls to his knees beside Merlin's body. Merlin is shivering and whimpering, hands pressed to his side, blood trickling from between his fingers to pool in the dirt below him. He was alive, but just barely. Good.

_-x-x-x-x-x-_

“Gwen!” Arthur shouts, and he sees his wife come rushing over from the other side of the triage tent, worry pinching her face into a frown. He sees her catalogue his injuries (the ones she can see) and then her eyes drift down to the man in her husband's arms and her face pales even more than it already is.

“You can put him over there,” she says gently, gesturing at a nearby empty cot, “And I'll go and get Gaius.” The crack in her voice at on the old physician's name gives away her worry for her friend, but that's the only indication she gives that she's not as calm and collected as she appears to be.

By the time Arthur has gently placed Merlin on the cot (the poor man has passed out by now from the pain) Gaius is at his elbow, gently saying “Sire” and bustling around to Merlin's side where he was stabbed. He quickly checks the wound, then orders fresh, warm water, a couple of herbs and some bandages from Gwen who was hovering nearby, biting her lip. She nods and hurries off, and Gaius turns to Arthur. “Sire, could you get me the blade that stabbed Merlin?” he asks, resting his palm on Merlin's forehead. “I have a feeling, but I only hope I'm wrong.”

“Give him whatever he needs, Gaius.” Arthur orders, and the wise old man nods. The last thing Arthur sees before he stalks out the tent is Gaius bending over his best friend, Gwen watching him, both of them murmuring fervently to one another.

_-x-x-x-x-x-_

Arthur has to kill a few more Saxons who are foolish enough to get in his way before he reaches Mordred's body. He walks over to the dead former-Knight, sword still in his leather-gloved grip, and resists the urge to either spit on or kick the body. The King tries to ignore the puddle of blood that came out of his best friend a little to the left of the corpse of one of his most trusted Knights, and leans down to tug the Godforsaken sword from Mordred's grip. It comes away easily and Arthur studies it for a moment, running his gaze up and down the blade. It's pure black and seems to give off a cold sort of feeling in the air around it. Even as he's studying it though, he knows something is wrong. The sword doesn't come to a neatly tapered point like any other he's come into contact with. Instead, it ends in a jagged diagonal line that has crusted blood on it. If this meant what he thought it meant... he set off for a run to the triage tent, somehow not being attacked on the way, even though he wasn't trying to be as quiet as he normally was. All caution was thrown to the wind in his desperation to get to his dying friend.

_-x-x-x-x-x-_

Arthur bursts back into the triage tent just as dramatically as before and waves the sword around in the air. “Got it.” he says a little breathlessly and Gaius looks up from where he was securing the last part of the bandage around Merlin's wound. His injured friend was now shirtless, and Arthur was trying very hard not to look. Gaius seemed to notice, or it was just the next step in his treatment, but he pulls a thin blanket over his patient's prone form. Gaius pats the blanket twice and makes his way over to Arthur. “How is he, Gaius?” he whispers, while handing the blade to the old man.

“Not good, my Lord. And this sword just made my prognosis much, much worse.” Gaius looks ten times older than he already is, the worry of his as-good-as son's health pressing heavily on his mind.

“Arthur...” the man in question hears his name groaned in a hoarse whisper from the bed behind them.

“Do everything you can for him.” Arthur says, knowing it's stupid to say it because Gaius is doing that already, obviously, but he feels he can't say nothing. He pats the old man on the upper arm and heads over to the bed, chainmail clanking slightly. “Hey, clotpole, got yourself stabbed did you?” Arthur asks lightly, sitting in the chair at the bed's side, his voice catching on the tears in his throat, covering one of Merlin's hands with his own.

Merlin's skin is wet, hair sticking to his forehead thanks to the ministrations of Gwen with a wet cloth. Arthur really wants to brush it out of his eyes. Merlin licks his cracked lips and a barely-there wheeze comes out of his throat. “Either that, or I'm just dying for fun.”

Arthur frowns. “You're not dying.”

Merlin, even though quite deathly ill, fixes him with one of his patented “God, you're stupid” looks and pushes his blanket down with his other hand to show the bandage already soaked through with blood. “I'm _dying_ you prat. I've even tried to heal myself, but nothing has happened. I have a piece of that awful bloody sword _in _me.”

“Heal... yourself?” Arthur asks hesitantly, and Merlin swallows convulsively and nods.

“I'm...” he looks to Gaius as if in confirmation, and the old man looks up from studying the sword, though he's quite obviously listening intently to their conversation, and nods. “I'm a sorcerer. I have...” this last word is whispered so softly, Arthur nearly doesn't hear it. “...magic.”

Arthur laughs in disbelief and says “No, you're quite obviously delirious. Isn't that right, Gaius?”

“On the contrary my Lord, he's completely lucid.”

Arthur just stares at his friend in disbelief who somehow finds the energy to both roll his eyes and make sparks from a nearby torch on one of the tent's poles dance around their heads. Gwen gasps, murmuring “beautiful” and Arthur is just shaking his head.

“No. I refuse to believe you hid magic... _magic _from me for eight years!” Arthur yells, and stands up, knocking the chair out from underneath him, starting to pace up and down the tent, tugging at his hair in anguish.

Merlin winces at the loud noises and unapologetically shrugs a tiny amount. “I wasn't exactly subtle on most occasions. Don't feel bad, you're just thick.”

Arthur scoffs. “You're really not allowed to talk to me like that.”

“When's that ever stopped me?”

“Good point.”

At that exact moment a coughing fit overtakes Merlin, wracking his body, and his eyes roll back in his head and he passes out again.

“Gai-” Arthur starts in panic, but the physician is already there at Merlin's side, dragging back the blanket that has a red patch where it was resting on the warlock's stab wound. Gwen is at Merlin's head again, wiping him down with her cloth, and Arthur just feels utterly... hopeless. Gaius shaking his head and tutting at the soaked bandages grabs his attention, and Arthur comes over. The physician looks up at his King and sadly shakes his head. “I'm sorry Sire, there is nothing more I can do. If Merlin says not even his magic can heal him, then my simple ministrations aren't going to do anything to help.”

Arthur takes in a shaky breath and asks, “surely there's something we can do?”

Gaius looks back at Merlin, and says, “I think the best thing for him would be to get him to the Isle of the Blessed. The Sidhe will know what to do.”

Arthur nods. “Get him ready for transport. We ride in half-an-hour.”

“Arthur, it's already almost dark!” Gwen cries.

The Once and Future King gestures at his ailing friend. “The sooner we get there the better, don't you think? He'll be worse in the morning.” He sees Gaius nodding out the corner of his eye.

Gwen bites her lip, frowning a little, but slowly nods. “I'm coming with.”

“Oh, no you're not, My Lady.” Arthur replies, “You're needed here, to help Gaius.”

“He's right my dear. You've been invaluable thus far.”

“But...”

“You're staying, and that's an order. I need you safe. And to assume the throne if anything happens to me.” He says, referring to the Pendragon Seal on the ring he gave her before this whole nightmare started.

She obviously wants to say more, but clenches her jaw and nods, once.

Arthur lets out a sigh of relief and goes looking for horses.

_-x-x-x-x-x-_

It's more an hour than half-an-hour before they're on the move again, but Gaius has strapped Merlin up and given him something for the pain so he can ride a horse. All three of them help Merlin onto his beast, but there's still stifled cries of pain whenever he has to lift his leg. Arthur's heart is breaking with every little noise his friend makes, his friend who is being so brave, trying to make his mortal stab wound seem like a kitten scratch.

They set off, after Gaius and Gwen both give Merlin a lingering hug goodbye (Gwen has silent tears flowing down her face) and she gives Arthur a soggy kiss. “You'd better come back.” she threatens, and Arthur can't help but smile fondly at his wife.

“And if I don't..?”

“I'll bring you back to life just to kill you again.” she growls, and he has no doubt she means it.

“Then I shall endeavour to come back.”

“And bring Merlin with you!” she demands to their retreating backs, nobody wanting to accept that Merlin might not be coming back.

Arthur waves with one hand, the other gently leading Merlin's horse. Merlin seems to be concentrating all his effort on just staying _on _the horse, let alone controlling it, if the small frown on his face is anything to go by.

“All right there, Merlin?” Arthur calls over his shoulder once they reach the border of the Darkling Woods.

“Just fine, not like I've been _stabbed _or anything.” the warlock bites back, his face crumpled in pain, pressing his hand to the wound again.

Arthur slows the horses down and rides back a little to be at Merlin's side. “Should we make camp?” he asks, not happy with the little amount of progress they've done, but equally filled with trepidation that they're heading into the woods with only the full moon to guide them.

“Dunno.” Merlin shrugs, “I can go on. Just need to...” he digs around in a little pouch on the horse's flank and extracts a herb that Gaius had packed for the pain. He pops it in his mouth and Arthur can literally see when it takes effect because his friend's face relaxes.

“Better now?” Arthur asks.

“Yup!” Merlin replies, somewhat over-enthusiastically and even grabs the reigns of his horse. He trots the beast forward a little and gestures at the forest. “Shall we?”

Arthur has this niggling feeling that his friend is actually still in a lot of pain, but has somehow become better at hiding it.

_-x-x-x-x-x-_

It's some time later, Arthur estimates it to be at about three in the morning when there's an odd sound and Merlin's horse comes trotting past, sans rider. Arthur immediately stops the beasts and dismounts, searching blindly in the dark for his injured friend. Trust Merlin to fall off his horse in the only bloody part of the woods with branches too thick to let the moonlight through.

“Merlin!” Arthur whisper-shouts and he hears a weak groan in reply to his left. Turning in that direction, he sees a weak flame sputtering at about the spot where Merlin's groan came from. “No, put that out, you're using too much energy!” the King scolds, and gently hauls Merlin to his feet.

“Need to rest.” the warlock pants, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. “Gather... some wood.” he requests, and Arthur nods, leaning Merlin against a fallen log and setting off to try and blindly find some fuel without any light. That is, until a familiar ball of blue light floats behind his shoulder, illuminating his way. Arthur wants to shout at Merlin again for using his magic unnecessarily, but decides to just get on with the task at hand. In no time, there's dry wood in front of the injured warlock, who puts his hand out in front of him, whispers “_forbearnen_” and Arthur notices his eyes flash gold as a spark comes out of his palm. Merlin laughs weakly and says “usually it's much more impressive than that” and they watch as the fire catches with a small tendril of smoke rising into the air. Arthur puts another log on the fire and settles down next to Merlin.

“I get that you want to show off your magic, but bloody hell, Merlin, save your strength!” Arthur scolds, brushing the sweaty hair off his friend's brow.

“You... don't know how much... I rely on it normally.” was the weak answer, each pause in the sentence drawing longer and longer and Arthur finds himself listening closely for the sound of Merlin's breathing. It's regular but somewhat rattling in his chest, and the King pulls his cloak off and drapes it over his friend's tired body.

“I'll try and... I don't know, make something for supper?” Arthur says uncertainly, and stands. But Merlin's hands grope blindly out for him and he says “stay with me” and Arthur flashes back to that awful night on his birthday when his father faded before his eyes.

“I'm not going anywhere, I'm just going to get some food. I'll be right back.” the Arthur says, flashing Merlin a reassuring grin and heads over to the horses, hoping against hope there was something that Gwen or Gaius had packed. There was, and Arthur sends out a silent thank you to the both of them, before bringing over some bread and cold soup to the campfire.

“Here you go, Merlin.”Arthur says cheerfully, dumping the covered bowl in his friend's lap, and attacking his piece of bread like a man possessed.

Merlin carefully extricates himself from under the cloak and tries to prop himself into more of a sitting position. He picks up the spoon that's attached to the bowl, but his hand is trembling. Still, he soldiers on, and lifts the lid up, placing it carefully to the side before sticking the spoon into the cold broth and bringing it to his mouth. He's shaking too badly, however, and the soup splatters all over the cape before the spoon clatters back into the bowl.

Arthur has been watching this with horror, and takes the bowl from Merlin's grasp. “Better hold onto this, Merlin, otherwise you're going to have an even bigger job of washing my cloak.” the King says, and picks up the now-full spoon and gently puts it into his friend's mouth. Merlin swallows greedily and opens his mouth for more, and Arthur is happy to comply. Soon the bowl is empty and Merlin has cuddled up against Arthur's side, cheek squished against his chainmail. Arthur doesn't sleep a wink, terrified his best friend will stop breathing during the night.

_-x-x-x-x-x-_

Birds singing overhead wakes Arthur from a gentle doze, and he looks down at his side. Merlin is still there, still breathing, and his arm is slung over his King's stomach.

“Merlin.” Arthur whispers, gently shaking his manservant's shoulder. Merlin doesn't respond. “Merlin!” Arthur says loudly, shaking the shoulder a little harder, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. People fell into a deep sleep just before they died, look at his father, and Morgana all those years ago when she nearly died... His mind starts spiralling out of control until he feels movement at his side. He shakes himself from his terrified thoughts and looks down, to see Merlin's sleepy, pain-filled gaze meet his own. “Oh, thank God.” the King breaths in relief, and Merlin tries his best to smile reassuringly at Arthur, but it shows more like a grimace on his face.

“C'mon, breakfast!” Arthur says faux-brightly, patting Merlin's leg where the injury isn't. Merlin shakes his head and mumbles “not hungry.” This was so, so, so _not good_. Still, he somehow manages to coax a few grapes into Merlin's stomach, and by some miracle wrestle him back onto his horse without more damage being done. Merlin takes another leaf of Gaius' herb out his horse's pack and chews it slowly as they carry on into the forest.

They stop for ten minutes to let the horses rest when they're out of the Darkling Woods, but Arthur decides to keep Merlin on his horse. The young warlock had been dozing over the neck of his horse, while Arthur kept a sharp eye (and ear) out for any danger. However, Merlin awoke when the reassuring plod of the horse came to a stop and he raised his head. Arthur noticed the movement and grinned.

“Hello, there, lazy daisy! How're you feeling?”

“Thirsty.” Merlin croaks, and Arthur nods, handing him the waterskin. The warlock manages to lift the waterskin to his lips and drink a few gulps before handing it back to Arthur. Arthur is ecstatic at the strength his friend seems to be getting back. Perhaps they'd make it after all...

_-x-x-x-x-x-_

They're literally a few miles from their destination when Morgana turns up. The journey had been uneventful up until then, Merlin hadn't fallen off his horse again, and he'd eaten every so often. Not much, but it was still something. Arthur was trying so hard (and failing just as much) to not get his hopes up. They'd stopped in the late afternoon of the third day of their journey, and Arthur announced they would make it to the Isle of the Blessed by noon tomorrow. Merlin nods, his jaw clenched against the pain he was now in (Gaius' herbs had run out that morning). Arthur was happily setting up the next camp when a dark shape made itself known against the treeline. A twig snaps and Arthur's head jerks up and he draws Excalibur, but doesn't get a chance to use it, as he goes flying through the air and cracks his head on a tree trunk, vision blurring, and dropping the sword.

“So, Emrys...” Morgana gloats, black dress dragging over the leaves on the floor, “...enjoying your downfall? It's more than you deserve.”

“I blame myself for what you turned into, Morgana.” Merlin says, voice strong but body weak.

“Don't flatter yourself.” she spits back, and crouches down to press her palm against Merlin's wound. “Oh, yes, that little piece of sword has almost reached your heart.” she says softly, and presses down, causing Merlin to arch his back and cry out.

Arthur is on his feet by then, shaking his head like a dog trying to rid water from its ears, and he sneaks up behind her. She turns just too late as Excalibur is driven into her stomach.

“Think you can kill me with your mortal blade?” she crows, but turns paler than she already is when Merlin says “it's no mortal blade. It was forged in a dragon's breath” while Arthur pulls the sword out of her body and lets her fall to the ground with a soft whimper.

“Farewell, _sister_.” Arthur sneers, and he grabs Merlin, slinging his arm over one shoulder and basically carrying him away from the corpse.

_-x-x-x-x-x-_

Arthur is actually quite shocked to see the boat to go across to the Isle is actually right over the crest of the hill whose valley they were resting in when Morgana showed up.

“Strange,” he murmurs, “I thought it was farther away.”

Merlin's head drops down and his full weight falls on Arthur, who (though he can manage his friend's weight) wasn't expecting it and they both collapse on the shore of the Lake. Arthur turns Merlin over, and sees his beautiful blue eyes aren't open and his chest is rising and falling shallowly. “No. No, Merlin, come on, hold on, we're right here. Please Merlin.” His friend's eyelids flutter slightly at the sound of his name. “MERLIN!” Arthur shouts, and Merlin's eyes pop open. “Oh, thank God.” Arthur whispers, dragging his friend into his lap and cupping his face in his hands. “Stay with me, Merlin.”

“Can't for much longer.” is the ragged reply, and Arthur's heart splinters into a million little pieces. He was going to lose Merlin, wasn't he? What would he do without him? His vision blurs as tears well up, and he hears Merlin murmur something in another language. Arthur blinks rapidly just in time to see the gold swim around his friend's irises and a tingle go from his head to his toes. Tears are now pouring freely to drip onto Merlin's cheeks in a sort of ghostly echo of Arthur's crying. “Wait for me.” Merlin whispers with his dying breath, and Arthur watches in horror as those beautiful blue eyes, always sparkling with some sort of mischief, lose focus and turn dull.

“Merlin! NO!” Arthur yells hoarsely, and he bends over his friend's head, sobs wracking his body. He couldn't go on without Merlin, couldn't live without him. Who'd be there to offer snide remarks, but be a constant presence of loyalty? What would Arthur have to tell the rest of the Knights, Gwaine especially? What about Gaius? Oh, God, _Gaius._

Arthur sobs until his chest hurts and he's run out of tears. He lifts his forehead from Merlin's and gently closes the warlock's eyelids, sapphire blue eyes hidden away from the world for the time being. The King squares his shoulders, lifts Merlin, holding him like his bride, and wades into the lake, stopping when he reaches the side of the boat, gently placing Merlin in it. Arthur covers Merlin with his cloak, Pendragon Crest resting right over the warlock's heart. Merlin looked as peaceful as the King had ever seen him. Arthur nods, presses a soft kiss to Merlin's forehead, and pushes the boat into the lake. It seems to have magic of its own, since it keeps going long after the momentum Arthur gave it would've worn out. The boat eventually disappears into the mist, but Arthur sits at the side of the lake for a long, long time.

_-x-x-x-x-x-_

Dawn breaks over the Isle the next morning, and a solitary figure clad in silver armour crests the hill. He looks back one final time at the lake, before turning to the journey to back Camelot before him. Taking a deep breath he puts one foot in front of the other and doesn't look back again.


End file.
